Okay, so for those of you who don't know what some of the refrences are, just use google. I try not to put anything that will go over anyone's head or otherwise take attention away from the point of the story. Enjoy.

I'm a little fuzzy when I wake up. Nothing around me looks familiar, what the f-

Oh yeah. I'm in Arnold's room.

I stretch out against the sheets (they're a nice royal blue) and look around. There's the usual stuff you'd expect. A bed. A pair of dressers, cologne and deodorants clumped together on one and a decent sized flatscreen resting atop the other. There's alot of pictures hanging up on the walls: I see a copy of a Starry Night, some frames arranged to hang filmstrip style featuring him and his grandparents, him and his actual parents, him and Gerald...

I lay on my back and sigh. My makeshift pajamas smell like laundry detergent, the kind that's more on the masculine end of the spectrum, like 'Ocean Breeze' or something. But the sheets have a hint of whatever he wears (I look up. Ah. Burberry. Nice) on them. Once upon a time I'd been a crazy little kid who had snuck into his old room and been enamored. And here I am years later. Life is crazy.

While I'm not necessarily thrilled I am sort of... Excited? Something about being in his bed, wearing his clothes, is making my heart go kinda nuts. Then again it's been a while since I was with anyone so it could just be the sudden intimacy of it all kicking my hormones in the face. Why am I even contemplating this? I haven't even had coffee yet!

A full length mirror hangs on the door of his closet so I check myself out. My ponytail definitely needs a re-do. I showered before coming over so I don't look nearly as tragic as I could have... a splash of water on my face and some listerine is all that's overdue. But damn. This is what chicks in the movies look like after a tryst. Messy but totally at ease. Oh well. No one's dumb enough to assume shit. They know Arnold and I are just friends. Besides, I'm starving.

I open his door quietly and wander towards the bathroom, looking around like I'm in some Bond movie and waiting for the first suspicious thing I find to explode. I guess I still have a bit of a dramatic flair. Sue me. The bathroom isn't the girly haven Pheebs and I have at home, but there's plenty of soap and mouthwash so I make use of it. Once I'm back into sneaky-mode I walk by the living room, right by the mess of blond and blankets that makes up Arnold. He sleeps tucked to one side and snores lightly... it's honestly pretty adorable.

Swallowing a giggle so I don't wake him I continue to the kitchen. I smell the holy grail of morning scents roiling out of the kitchen- hot caffeine- and find Lee in jeans and a tee wandering around, flipping mugs like a bar tender.

"Well good morning, m'lady." He mock bows and pours cream into a cup. "I see you usurped m'lord's sleeping quarters."

"Hardly," I yawn, "they were offered. Where are Geraldo and Phoebe?"

"Left for breakfast." He grins. "Those two reek of history don't they."

"I guess you could say that."

Lee is a little wierd, but not in a bad way. He's... unique? Now that I'm getting a better look at him rather than his personality the kid's pretty easy on the eyes. Long black hair, slight baby face, a muscular build that looks more deliberate than not. He isn't my type but it makes me chuckle. This house is like a den for good looking guys or something, I swear.

"Coffee?"

I nod at his offer wholeheartedly and wait.

"You can grab whatever you want from the fridge. No one'll mind. Our casa su casa, esta bien?"

"Gracias! I notice you don't have an accent. Did you pick it up in school or...?"

"Spanish? It's in my blood, señorita."

"Wait, where are you from?"

He grins. "You'd never guess. At least no one has yet."

"Well I forfeit. So do tell."

"Well my dad is Korean, and my mom is both Puerto Rican and Dominican. They were both in the army and met overseas. Most koreans would never take a foreigner that seriously, I've heard, but dad took one look at mom in that camouflage suit and it was game over. They got married and had me and here I am, mixed as all hell."

"Wow. That is different. You speak korean too?"

"Yep." Lee pops his lips on the 'p'. "Real party trick to anyone that's never heard it. I'm a prince straight out of a k-drama or novella... I usually let the ladies pick." Lee hands me a cup and waggles his brows.

"If I think I know anyone that can handle you I'll be sure to set you up." I nod at him with a laugh.

We both turn at the sound of feet shuffling; Arnold walks into the kitchen with his arms up in a stretch. He looks pretty tired, but it doesn't make him any less nice to look at. He fixes lazy green eyes on me and smiles. "Good morning guys."

I think my ovaries may have just imploded.

I hear voices on the edge of my sleep. At first I could care less who it is; all I want is to sleep until I can't anymore. But the closer I get to being up the more I realize that it's Helga and Julian talking. I hear her ask where he's from and his reply. I blame it on my zombie state of being, but my mind inmediately wanders to 'Does she like him?' territory. Then she mentions setting him up and my heart sinks away from my throat and back to where it belongs. The hell is wrong with me...

Speaking of zombie, I pretty much drag myself into the kitchen like one. My feet almost refuse to part with the floor. There they are, Lee playing off-duty barista and Helga-

Damn.

She looks so good wearing my clothes. Fresh faced and even a little bit freshly-fucked (even though I know that isn't the case). They hang off of her in the most casual way but she makes it look sexy. I can see why this always happens in movies. The effect of it screams 'She's mine and you can't fucking have her'.

Not. A. Friendship. Thought.

"You hungry?" Helga asks after I greet them, smiling up from her coffee. "Lee already offered me VIP kitchen access."

"Of course he did." I go over to him and punch him lightly in the arm. His military mom and dad are probably to blame for how he treats working out like a routine rather than a chore. Even though he doesn't make it obvious. The sound of our fridge being exploited (that wierd wet suction noise of the door opening) makes me look over to it. Helga's bent over and digging through it, the curve of her ass subtly rising against the fabric of my way-too-big-on-her boxers. Lee notices me noticing her and I smack him on the arm. He chortles like an idiot.

"Sweet!" Helga exclaims as she draws back. "How about pancakes?"

"Aww man. You're gonna cook right as I gotta go?" Lee whines. "No fair!"

She shrugs but sighs sympathetically. "Raincheck? Maybe Pheebs and I can cook next time. She taught me how to make eggrolls that could make a zombie rise hungry."

"I'm down. Gotta be out though. Adult life calls." He says before walking by me with a wink. I love him like a brother... that I sometimes feel the urge to kick.

I watch Helga investigate the cabinets and shelves like she's been here more than this one time. A small pile of things gathers onto the table and ahe points. "Apple cinnamon or banana nut?"

"Hmmm... Apple please."

It's like watching a food network show. I had a crush on the Italian lady at one point, whatever her name was. But even she can't top the way Helga nearly dances around the kitchen with those long legs of hers as she preps breakfast. I have to remind myself to look away and talk for the half hour it takes her to finish everything up.

"You can handle the dishes. It's only fair." She declares as she sets a plate of piping hot pancakes in front of me. They smell so damn good. Like a pie or something similarly autumnal. They melt in my mouth as I take a bite and I sigh.

"Its just applesauce, a little butter, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Easy peasy. Specially with the Aunt Jemima stuff."

"I bo befur yoo cockin qeen."

"Um, what?"

I almost choke on my full bite from laughing. "I said I bow before you cooking queen."

"Next time swallow your food. I'm not CPR certified so it's a guaranteed way to die."

"Harsh!"

She shakes her head and the blonde of her ponytail sways. "I kid. I'd try to save you. Then you'd owe me for all eternity."

"In that case I'll stick with choking."

Helga giggles before outright laughing at me as she damn near saunters to the sink to toss her emptied plate in. Maybe it's just me though. I mean, c'mon. Sauntering? I clearly need a lay or something. She'd kill me if she could read minds.

"Hey," I murmur between bites, "I know you don't want to come to the party..."

The way her eyes narrow in suspicion makes me laugh. "Relax! I was gonna say maybe you could help me with my costume? Hell if I know what to be. Haven't dressed up for Halloween in a whiiiile."

The second Arnold mentions that party I freeze. Everything I drunkenly muttered at him floods my mind and burns my cheeks. Dammit Helga, you oversharing freak. I might have to duct tape my mouth shut around Arnold once in a while. He's just so familiar! Once he clarifies and shows respect for what I'd said, though, I relax. Sheesh. Ever the gentleman.

"Be one of The Doctors." I say inmediately.

"Why? Which one? You sure I can't convince you to be a Dalek?"

I laugh and shake my head. "I think eleven or ten, personally. And I don't think I can build myself an angry salt shaker costume to hide inside of, but I could walk around and threaten people with a whisk if I was going, which I'm not."

"Aghhh, that'd be amazing. Assault, probably, but still amazing. Why those two?"

He cocks his head and messy cornflower strands fall against his eyes. Arnold looks just like a quizzical puppy for a sec. "Because they're both naive, more or less in your fashion." I reply easily.

"Naive how? What do you mean by that Helga?"

This time I don't answer right away. I glance at him. Arnold, with his plain tee that shows off tan, broadening shoulders and the typically thick curves of a male collarbone (a body part that makes me itch to bite, a fact I've drunkenly confessed to Phoebe, like, three times). He's not buff but not the scrawny little kid I knew either, sinewy muscle hinted at by his forarms and the lack of pouch at his middle even after such a big breakfast.

He's handsome as hell. Hot, really.

And I shouldn't be thinking that, but Arnold really is so naive that I know he won't notice. It doesn't change anything between us, but it's not something I need him to know either. So I smile and say "Case in point. I'm right 99% of the time Shortman. Just go with it."

"What about the other 1%?"

"That's when I'm too busy sleeping to answer."

The laugh that follows is raspy and wholehearted, like lace scraping against steel...

I feel an ancient urge to write my thought down but grin anyway.

The days fly by after our impromptu slumber party. I scroll through my phone and grin at parts of my ongoing texts with Helga. The same day after she'd left:

A: My room smells kinda like you now lol

H: You're welcome :p

A: Really though what kind of enchanting girl smell is this

H: Strawberries and cream shampoo. Magically delicious and deliciously artificial

A: LOL imagine that? A Lucky Charms scented shampoo?

H: I'm going to google that. If it's real it's your xmas gift lol

A: Dammit! Lol

I see the makeshift pajamas I gave her on a corner of the bed, folded neatly. I unroll the shirt and sniff. Instead of sweat and salt and manstink it reeks of sweet warmth. Helga smells good. Kinda like Hillwood.

Arnold mentions my scent and I squirm. His whole room smelled like a cocoon of musk and man and something else familiar. Something I remember from my old home.

We decide on the tenth doc and Helga insists on a long trench coat and fake glasses to go with it. She seems so into the idea that the idea itself no longer seems as dorky as I'd thought. Everytime Gerald talks shit I remind him that he wouldn't be talking to Phoebe if not for me, and he immediately shakes his head. "Whatever you say, Arnold... whatever you say."

I try to talk Helga into being my sidekick Rose just once. She seems to contemplate it before dismissing it again. Can't say I'm not dissapointed. I draw a quick doodle of a a guy in a nice suit who looks mostly like me, and a woman in a big skirt who looks suspiciously like Helga.

They're running straight for the stars.

"Why are you groaning Helga? Something troubling you?"

Phoebe joins me for a rerun of Friends on the couch in some gray pajamas with a bag of pretzels in hand.

"The party. You're going with Gerald, right?"

My best friend blushes pink. "W-well yes. He invited me, so-"

"Don't act so shy Pheebs. You and Geraldo click. I'm happy for you. Honestly. It's good to see you so gaga. It's cute."

"Helga," she taps my hand with a pretzel that I snatch up. "That's so sweet of you! But you've been pretty happy too as of late. With your... friendship."

"You don't think Arnold and I are just friends? Why would I lie to you Phoebe?"

"I don't think you're lying to me, Helga. But... are you really being honest with yourself?"

Ugh. Here she goes with her thousand year old wisdom. The only person who's right more often than me is Phoebe. I see Nymph lurking at my feet and snatch her up, the furry length of her dangling in the air as I touch my nose to hers. "Am I lying to myself? Huh Nymphy-cat?" Her tail twitches and she purrs but doesn't do much else. I lay the sweet sack of cuddles on my lap and she bumps her head against Phoebe's fingers. "Well you're no help, missy."

"Do you think reuniting with Arnold has caused you to go back to your old... ice cream craving?"

"My wh- oh. Oh." I roll my eyes. Ice cream was Phoebe's gentle codename for Arnold way long ago. Back when I clung to his existence like he was the damn sun or something. Before I knew anything about what love isn't like... I still don't know what it's supposed to be, exactly, but my 'ice cream problem' wasn't it. "Nah, Pheebs. I think he's great. We get along well. We have alot of stuff in common. I don't want to build him a new bubble gum shrine anytime soon, though."

"A what?"

"Never you mind. Arnold isn't ice cream. He's just... Arnold."

"Maybe it's everything else he could be that worries you, then. I mean really, Helga. You like him all over again for who he is now. Don't you?"

"A little!" I shout and burry my head into some cushions like an ostrich fleeing the world. "But so what? I don't wanna ruin things. I don't want to like him because of how I felt before. And I don't wanna be liked just because the Big Guy threw me a bone and turned me into a post-puberty beauty!"

"Come to the party with us." She crunches through her snack. "Or at least concider it. I won't leave you alone if you do. I promise. I'll break someone's arm if they so much as brush up against you wrong. You deserve it, though, Helga. I wasn't there the night things happened to you, but I am now."

Well shit. Phoebe has never been too keen on hitting the nail over the head. Usually she skirts around my darker issues with expert delicacy. I had no idea she still felt responsible for me. She's gonna make me cry. "Pheebs..."

"Yes?"

The room goes silent save Nymph's carborator purr and Joey' Tribianni's obnoxious 'How you doin?' on tv.

I will the sting of tears away and smile. "Wanna help me find a poofy pink skirt?"

"Helping!"

The night of the party arrives and I get a text from Arnold. A picture. There he is, looking right into the camera with a goofy grin, eyes bright behind a fake pair of specs. His hair is all swept back and coiffed at the front, a long trenchcoat onscuring my view of much else.

H: You look fantastic, doc!

A: Thanks. It's nerdy as hell but I like it

H: Told ya

A: You still sure you won't come with?

I flatten a stray hair against my up-do as I look into the mirror, my fifties themed outfit reflected back at me. Phoebe was able to get me a seriously pretty pink a-line skirt from the bridal shop to wear for the night. The jean jacket, pumps, and headband weren't hard to come by as I already owned them. I look more or less like the show's sassy blonde female lead in an episode that involved trying to visit said time period.

H: We'll see Shortman. You never know ;)

Shaking my head at the not-too-subtle hint, I head out for the night to try and forget the scars my last party left behind a few years ago.

I meet up with a samurai, a geisha, and a very specific looking soldier.

Gerald, Phoebe, and Julian.

"Okay I get you guys," I motion towards my best friend and my friend's best friend (gotta get used to that), "so points for being a matching set. What are you Lee?"

"A mystery, Helga. Arnold and I have bets on him really being an alien. No joke." Gerald shakes his head in mock sadness.

"Snake from Metal Gear Solid! I borrowed my old man's suit. Nerdy, but the girl of my dreams will know." He winks and we let out a collective sigh against his loud "Whaaat?" Phoebe links her arm in mine and smiles. Her makeup is so pretty, her skin paper white, bright red streaked across her lips and perfectly angled liner above each eye. "Ready to find your Doctor? I know he's here somewhere. Gor here a bit before we did."

I look down at her and smile. "Naw. I think I'm good Pheebs. No drinking on my end. I'll find him myself. You think he'll like the get-up?"

"I think he'd like you in a potato sack at this point, 'Elgah."

"Oh Phobee, shut your trap."

We laugh madly in memory of the way a pop star we'd gotten to meet had butchered our names, in that thick accent of his. Once we split up I realize this house is bigger than I imagined. The kitchen has an island and the dining room is big enough for a dinner straight outta Game of Thrones. I pull out my phone and shoot Arnold a text before calling him up. No response. And no way you'd ever hear a ring over the sound of Muse's Supermassive Blackhole blaring over whatever expensive speakers they readied.

I turn the corner that joins the hallway to the living room.

Criminy.

It's a shit-faced fuck-fest everywhere you look: Dinosaur on fairy, Barbie on Nicki, basketball jock on vampire. Some people at least try to look more discrete, but most just let their hands wander like suggestions. It's almost amazing how ignorant they are of one another, each pair in their own impenetrable bubble of lust.

That's when I look down at the couch closest to my post and almost drop my phone.

"I'll bet..." I hear Arnold rasp at the chick straddling his lap. She's red haired and bottom heavy, her entire body hugged by a black pleather suit. There are half gloves on her hands, her face mostly obscured by a little black mask that ends in points. Ah. Cat woman. Very original.

"Who's gonna have better pussy than the queen herself?" I hear her selling herself like a pro.

I expect Arnold to give her a dirty reply, but he chooses to say nothing. Instead his large hands cup an equally sizeable ass and bring her to a grind against his obvious hard-on.

Red takes the lead and rocks back and forth with a smile... I'm pretty sure I can see her nipples poking against the front of her costume. Then Arnold takes it up a notch in a way I'd never have imagined: his hand travels up her side and between her breasts, settling onto one side of her neck in a soft grip as his thumb strokes... Up, down, up, down... He slides the other up over her body- squeezing over what matters as he goes- yanking her down for a kiss. Her hips never stop moving.

"Fuck." He swears quietly against her mouth. I don't think I've ever heard him cuss before. Without knowing why I stood there for this long I turn to go.

I can't get away fast enough.

Please let me know how I'm doing :) Happy New Year's all!